News from Rajmuat
by Rockstar with a Vendetta
Summary: One-Shot. When word reaches Pirate's Swoop of the birth of her grandchildren, the Lioness struggles with her own guilt as a parent and the bittersweet knowledge that she must let go of her only daughter.


**I actually wrote this to fit the title, since the latter was what I came up with first. :P I'm not an Alanna shipper, so this piece is iffy for me. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback, however!**

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"I have news from Rajmuat."

The baroness of Pirate's Swoop and Olau glanced up from her desk, focusing on the man leaning casually against the doorframe. He was holding up a triple-folded letter. There was nothing about his stance to suggest bad news, but she had to ask, maintaining a steady voice,

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine, lass," George replied gently. She wondered if her voice was as steady as she thought it was. Or maybe it was just that, after all these years, he knew her so well. "And so are her little ones."

Alanna the Lioness half-rose from her chair. "She gave birth?" she asked, almost disbelieving. "She had—them? How many? When?"

"Triplets, and not three days ago," her husband said proudly. His hazel eyes were gleaming as brightly as any other grandfather's. "Would you like the letter? Nawat wrote it for us. No doubt our Aly has her hands full."

"No doubt," Alanna said dryly, accepting the letter. She looked over it swiftly, noting the rather sloppy handwriting with a wry smile. Nawat was a bit odd—quite a bit odd—but he was charming enough. She slowly sat back down.

"You're likely to light it on fire if you stare at it that hard," George smiled.

She hardly heard him.

"Two girls and a boy," she murmured.

"Opposite of us."

"Ochobai, Ulasu, and Junim…mixed names of those friends of hers that died. Is there a reason she mixed them?"

"It's against _raka_ custom otherwise," he explained. "You're not supposed to name children after the dead."

"I see." She fell silent, and George was content to watch her.

So. Three grandchildren already and she herself only in her mid-forties. Trust Alianne to make her feel older than anyone else ever could. Alanna wondered what they looked like—probably dark, like Nawat, and so tiny, like little dolls. She remembered holding her own babies when they were born, nothing but screaming hellions, every single one. Once, George half-jokingly said that it was the only time their children looked and acted like her in every way.

Alanna glanced up, looking out the window toward her right, thoughtful. It was a gray April morning, misty and drizzling outside—not a promising day. She wondered what the weather was like in the Copper Isles when the triplets were born. She hoped it was brilliantly sunny, nothing but blue skies and sunshine. But there had to be white clouds, lots of them, because she didn't like empty skies, and Aly herself had always liked lying on her back and finding shapes in them as they passed overhead. Maude was always scolding her for her laziness, but Alanna almost missed it now.

"I should've been there," she said quietly.

Somehow, George was already beside her. "I knew sooner or later this was going to happen," he sighed. He took her hand, kissed her palm. He met her violet eyes with kindness. "You and Aly were never meant to get along," he told her. "If you were with her when she went into labor, only one of you would escape the infirmary alive, and even I couldn't tell you the outcome."

"But if I had raised her different," Alanna insisted, "if I had been kinder or more understanding or whatever it was she needed, she would still be here, safe with us, not in some foreign land having bird babies."

George coughed, and she suspected he was covering a laugh. "Our grandchildren are hardly bird babies," he told her. "Their father just happens to have been born crow. And she's happy how she is. You think if you forced her into wearing more petticoats and frills and whatever else you have hiding in the deepest recesses of your wardrobe, she would be happy? She was born in my likeness, lass, and in yours, even if that part isn't obvious. There was no way she could've been anything but what she is. The Trickster took her hand as sure as the Goddess guided yours."

Alanna took comfort in those words, but it wasn't enough. Alianne was foremost in her mind nowadays, and so was this horrible nagging knowledge that—that if her daughter, her only daughter, ever died, she wouldn't know until days after the fact. They wouldn't be able to make it to her burial in time, and what was left of her, those triplets, would still be across an entire ocean. She would have nothing but memories, just like Liam and Faithful and poor, misguided Thom the First. The very thought caused her belly to roil in trepidation.

"I need to go riding," she sighed. "I just—I need to get out."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me," George told her quietly. "Take the letter, gallop Darkmoon to the beach, and think about our daughter."

Alanna fled to the stables. Darkmoon awaited her patiently, already saddled. She could've kissed George—it was scary how well he knew her sometimes. She stuffed the letter into a pocket, and let her stallion have free reign.

He took the familiar path down the beach at a fast gallop that would probably hurt his leg again, but they both needed it. Neither of them had been out for weeks. Jon seemed to think she needed time to herself, but what she needed was to keep busy.

Alanna never really knew what to do with Aly. With Thom, it was easy: he was always magically-inclined. It was natural that he would choose the path he did. Alan was a bit trickier, but it was no surprise to his parents when he finally announced he wanted to be a knight. From a child he had leaned toward the warrior arts. Then there was Alianne. She had a talent with knives and daggers and melee fights, and she also had the Sight. Alanna always assumed she would be a lady knight, just because she was her daughter. _I was never so wrong in my life_.

Toward the end, so to speak, Alanna had given up hope that she would ever find her niche. She was her wayward daughter, flirty and vivacious, with seemingly no motivation at all. Kissing boys on the balconies and playing endless pranks on visitors—she drove her mother to shouting all throughout her teenage years.

_Ah, Aly_, she thought wistfully, _you still frustrate me. You'll always frustrate me, I suppose. That must be what daughters are for…you'll find out yourself, soon enough._

Inevitably, that drew her thoughts back to her new grandchildren. She glanced up at the cloud-obscured sun, squinting against the soft rain. Darkmoon took slow, careful steps through the sand. Alanna wondered if they looked very much alike, or if their looks varied. Maybe one of the girls would be like their mother, and not listen to a word she says. The other might aspire to be a lady, or do something quieter and less assuming. She could live with that. And Junim…hm. What to do with him? A warrior, certainly, there was nothing else he could be. Although that was the attitude she had assumed with Alianne and look where it got her. Still, a grandson of hers should be something like a guard—he could serve under that guard Taybur, their godsfather. Or—and this made her think—maybe, when he was old enough, with the right aspirations, Aly would ship him off to stay at Pirate's Swoop and he could try for his knighthood…

Sir Junim Crow?

Alanna cackled, startling a couple of seabirds into flight. She might have to add Pirate's Swoop to the end of that, just so it didn't sound so ridiculous.

Of course, Aly could choose to have more. The thought made Alanna shudder. She made a mental note to plan another trip to the Copper Isles to find out if her daughter had any crazy ideas like that. If she gained an extra three grandchildren before she turned fifty, she might just lose what little mind she had left. _Her house will be a menagerie_, Alanna thought, mystified. _Nobody will talk, they'll just caw_.

So. Ochobai, Ulasu, and Junim. Two granddaughters and a grandson. Probably dark little things. Maybe they'll have Aly's nose, which was always pretty. Surely, they would grow to be attractive—Nawat was a handsome man, and Aly, her mother thought with pride, was certainly beautiful.

Alanna rolled her head on her shoulders, making the tendons in her neck pop. For some reason, she felt a lot better. She touched the letter through her pocket and smiled, because it was written by her son-in-law about her daughter and grandchildren. Darkmoon tossed his head. He was getting older, too. Soon he would retire to pasture, living out the rest of his days as a stud. He would like that.

She kicked him into a trot, back towards Pirate's Swoop. It was high time she started a letter to Aly. She needed to plan her next visit. After all, she had to see her grandchildren as soon as possible. And inquire about any future broods that wayward daughter of hers was thinking of hatching.

Besides, Alanna needed to write to Thom, too. He should probably be thinking about marriage soon. She kind of liked the idea of grandchildren, and she wanted some close to home.

She wondered if Keladry was seeing anybody…

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